No Escape

by Mary Burton

  Jo rose, smoothing her hands over her slim skirt. “Sadie, you can stay.”

  “Naw.” She scooped up two cookies and dropped them in the pocket of her jacket. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Sadie, please stay.”

  The girl looked tempted but shook her head. “Not tonight. Next time.”

  “Come back anytime. You can always find me through the church.”

  Sadie tucked her hair behind her ear and Jo spotted a bruise on the side of her neck. “I know. See ya.”

  Jo wanted so much to pull the girl back and demand that she remain. She wished like hell she could do more.

  By the time the meeting with the girls ended, it was past nine. Once Jo had done a final check of the room and locked the door, she hurried to her car. She fired up the engine and checked her phone, which had been on silent during the meeting.

  No call from Brody.

  He’d likely figured that she’d give up and let him have his way. That she’d simply absorb her anger, fear and disappointment and pretend all was fine.

  She’d long ago stopped being the girl “that went along.” She’d changed. Learned to take control. And now was no different. Brody would not ignore her this time.

  Determined, she found Brody’s complex with her GPS and headed out. The complex was easy enough to find but at the entrance, there were rows and rows of mailboxes. She spent ten minutes searching for the name Winchester.

  As she stood there a young girl came up, key in hand, and opened her mailbox. The girl, dressed in jeans and a heavy dark sweater, shrugged. “What’s the name? Maybe I can help you find him.”

  “Winchester. Brody.”

  “Don’t know the name.”

  “He moved in a couple of weeks ago. Wears a cowboy hat.”

  “A couple of weeks.” She paused to think. “There is the tall dude in building six. Not cute. Wears a cowboy hat.”

  “That’s him.”

  The girl nodded. “Building six is that way.”

  Jo found the tension knotting in her stomach annoying. “Thanks.”

  The girl cocked her head as she shuffled through her mail. “None of my business, but what did he do to piss you off?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  The girl arched a brow.

  Jo swallowed a rebuttal. “He didn’t return my calls.”

  “That would do it. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her sensible heels clicked as she hurried back to her car and slid behind the wheel. Less than a minute later she was parked in front of building six.

  She shut off the car, half wishing she’d stuck to phone messages. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed a harried reflection. Her makeup had worn thin, leaving the spray of freckles over her nose exposed. Her lipstick had worn away as had her blush. “Good going, Jo. Toss in a couple of braids, and you are Pippi Longstocking.”

  The temptation to fuss and preen nudged her fingers to the lipstick in her purse as a car parked beside her. She released the lipstick and let it fall back in her purse. Just her luck, she’d be applying makeup and Brody would knock on her window. Better to be bedraggled than to be caught fussing.

  She trailed the guy who’d gotten out of his car to the building entrance. He swiped his card and she followed him inside, trying to look as if she belonged here. The man vanished into a first-floor apartment as Jo pretended to climb the stairs. When he was inside she did a quick scan of the doors. None bore the Winchester name, so she climbed to the next floor. Another glance and no Brody. But on the third floor three of the four doors had names while the last did not. It made sense he’d not advertise his name.

  Taking a chance, she knocked on the door. For a moment she didn’t hear any sound or signs of life and thought the girl by the mailbox had given her an incorrect lead. She raised her fist to knock again when she heard steady steps making their way to the door seconds before it snapped open to Brody.

  He wore a University of Texas T-shirt and faded jeans. Dark stubble covered his chin and fatigue had left his eyes bloodshot. He looked as if he’d just woken up.

  “God, did I wake you?” Not two seconds into this conversation and an apology underscored her tone.

  “I was reading files.” He stared at her, knowing damn well why she was here.

  “I know you’re going to West Livingston tomorrow.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I want to go.”

  “ No.”

  The conviction behind the word took her aback. “What do you mean ‘no’? If you’re going to see Smith, I should be there.”

  “ No.”

  Heat stoked her temper. “I certainly do not need your permission.”

  “You do need my permission. I’ve told the warden I’m coming and because I’m now handling an active investigation, I don’t want anybody interviewing my witness without me being present.”

  Her fingers tightened around the shoulder strap of her purse. “Smith told me more in ten minutes than he told you in three years.”

  He leaned on the doorjamb and slid his hands in his pockets. “What’s your point?”

  “My point?” Damn him. A resident came out of his apartment, tossed an amused look at the two and then hurried down the stairs. Lowering her voice, she added, “I can help.”

  “Maybe. Maybe you’re giving Smith one more chance to screw with you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Those dark circles under your eyes tell me you’ve not slept real well the last two nights.”

  “I’m a bad sleeper.”

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  Unwanted color rose in her cheeks. “I’ve changed.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’ve grown up. We both have. But that doesn’t change the fact that Smith can get in your head and fuck you up. He said the answer is in you, and you haven’t let it go.”

  “That’s not true.”

  He leaned toward her. “It is. That’s what Smith does. He plants land mines in your brain, and it’s damn near impossible to let it go.”

  “How did he screw with you?”

  He studied her a beat as if he’d answer, but he shook his head. “No thanks, Doc. I don’t need a shrink.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Of course, you were. I’ve not met a shrink that can resist getting into someone’s head. He took a step back and put his hand on the door. “You’re not going to see Smith again, Jo. End of story.”

  She opened her mouth to argue as his door shut hard in her face.

  Blinking, she stood there for a moment, staring at the cheap door knocker glaring back at her. Tempted as she was to pound on the door and demand to be heard, she refused to lower herself. Brody Winchester might not want her to see Smith again, but he wasn’t the end-all, be-all. There was more than one way to skin a cat.

  The digital clock read 11:59 P.M. when Jo slid into her bed and lay back on her pillow. She reached for the light and shut it off.

  Light from the full moon shone in through plantation shutters, slashing patterns across her bedroom wall.

  As much as her body craved a full night’s sleep, her mind buzzed with a fuzzy energy. Too tired to work and too awake to sleep.

  Look deep inside yourself.

  Smith’s words rattled in her head, stoking an unease in her that had her rising and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She buried her face in her hands and took several deep breaths.

  He’ll get in your head. Brody’s words rattled like a jailer’s chain.

  “He’s not in my head. You are in my head.” Groaning, she padded to the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water. She took a sip, peered in the glass, and then poured it out. From the refrigerator, she grabbed a half-full bottle of chardonnay and refilled the glass.

  The wine tasted bitter. She’d cracked the bottle six months ago for Thanksgiving at her mom’s. The only wine drinker in the family, she’d been left after the festivities with a near full bottle that she’d shove
d to the back of her refrigerator, sure she’d have more occasions to enjoy it. But the holiday season, marketed as a glittering happy time, had a way of escalating sadness into suicide attempts. She’d worked nonstop in late December and early January.

  So here she sat, alone, with a half-full glass of stale wine, trying to chase away worries that would not leave.

  Tapping her finger on the side of the glass, she moved to the hallway closet, opened it and stared at the top shelf, crammed full of boxes. Setting her glass down, she hauled a chair from the kitchen set and climbed up on it. The first couple of boxes were extra climbing ropes and hooks; however it was the last box she was after. The one shoved deep in the back.

  Standing on tiptoes, her fingers barely skimmed the corner of the box and she nudged it forward far enough so that she could grab ahold.

  Jo carried the box to the couch and sat cross-legged, the box resting beside her. All her other memories had been carefully cataloged in scrapbooks, but these memories didn’t warrant that kind of attention. She should have thrown them out years ago, but for some reason she’d schlepped the box from apartment to apartment until two years ago it had found itself in the back of this closet where it had remained untouched.

  She reached in and pulled out a name badge that read: JOLENE S. GRANGER, FRESHMAN, PSYCHOLOGY. Those first weeks at UT had been overwhelming and exciting. She was the first and only in her family to go to college. For the first time in her life she’d been in her element.

  Two of her three cats jumped up on the couch and nestled beside her. The third, she knew, still slept on the bed.

  Setting the badge aside, she dug deeper, skimming over pamphlets and dorm assignments and first semester schedules. Finally, she reached her time card from the tutoring center. Not many freshmen were hired at the center and she’d been pleased when they accepted her application.

  She thumbed through her logbook and found Brody’s signature. Bold. And the ridges dug into the paper with the ballpoint pen remained crisp.

  God, but he’d been a force of nature. Larger than life. The most interesting guy she’d ever met.

  Jo closed her eyes. She’d not been thinking long-term when they’d slipped back to his room and he’d undressed her. She’d been thinking adventure. Excitement. Feeling so alive it hurt.

  The sex had been, well . . . okay. He’d not done a great job of tempering his desire, and she’d been an awkward virgin who’d wished for worldliness. But she’d be a liar if she said she’d not enjoyed the sex. They’d met again and again and for a brief time she’d had the world by the tail.

  And then one night after they’d made love, he’d realized the condom had broken. His relaxed muscles had tensed and satiation had turned to horror and disgust. She’d been rattled but had assumed it would be fine. Bad stuff had never happened to her.

  Jo shook off the image of Brody’s worried expression. She dug deeper into the box and found the group picture taken of the psychology department. She’d been on the third row, five spots in. Not smiling. Pale. Pregnant.

  Stuck to the back of that picture was their marriage license. Her signature had been weak and his not so bold, or deeply grooved.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, and because she was alone and knew no one would ever know, she let them spill down her cheeks.

  If Smith had meant to topple her life out of balance, he had done it.

  Chapter Ten

  Tuesday, April 9, 9:00 A.M.

  Brody spent the morning on the phone trading calls with the warden, trying to confirm his meeting with Smith, who remained in critical, unresponsive condition in the prison infirmary. He was heavily sedated and wouldn’t awaken until later in the day. Brody’s visit would have to wait. He sent a text to Jo advising her of the situation.

  Brody refocused on Christa and called Tim Neumann’s service and arranged for a morning appointment. His hope was that Neumann, the organizer of the Find Christa! campaign, would have insight into Scott or anyone else that might have wanted to harm Christa.

  He arrived at the nondescript office building that housed Neumann’s administrative offices as well as the offices of First Financial, Christa and Scott’s employer. As the service had instructed, Brody found a seat in the building’s café.

  Brody ordered a coffee and took a seat in one of the corner booths. As he sipped black coffee, he stared at gray walls decorated with stunning black-and-white photographs.

  In all his life, he never imagined himself working in an office building like this. In college he’d known he’d never make it to the top of baseball, but he’d clung to the sport because it had been exciting. When Jo had gotten pregnant and they’d married, he’d realized baseball wasn’t going to cut it. And so he’d joined the Marines without discussing it with her. Days later, Jo had lost the baby and their marriage had crumbled. He’d kept his commitment to the Marines and shipped out to basic before the divorce was final. When he’d returned to Austin four years later, he had joined the Department of Public Safety as a patrol officer, which suited his craving for excitement and a curiosity that focused on real-life issues versus the academic ones of college.

  The café door opened, revealing a midsized, olive-skinned man with thick, black hair. He had a fit body and when he spotted Brody he reached out to shake Brody’s hand. His grip was firm and his gaze direct. “Sergeant Winchester?”

  “Mr. Neumann. Thanks for taking the time. Did I pull you off a job?”

  “Managed to squeeze you in between house showings. No worries.” Neumann frowned. “I was darn sorry to hear the news about Christa. Scott was devastated when she vanished but for so many days we all thought that we’d find her.” He nodded toward the counter. “Let me grab a sandwich and soda.”

  “Sure.”

  When he returned he had a large soda, sandwich and a bag of chips. “Don’t mind if I eat?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thanks.”

  Brody waited for Neumann to sit before saying, “How did you get involved in finding Christa?”

  “There are lots of small companies in our building and you kind of get to know each other. I saw Christa in here a lot. News of her disappearance traveled fast in the building. We all felt so helpless. Then I thought that I’m good with people and I can organize. I made up flyers announcing an organizational meeting. Within two days of her vanishing, we had a solid team of volunteers ready to search.”

  “I understand you started your search in the woods near her apartment.”

  “That’s right. When we didn’t find her, we fanned out into the neighborhoods.”

  “You never came up with any leads.”

  Folding his arms, he shook his head. “Not a one. And now we all hear that she was alive all this time, and we could have found her. Everyone here is really down today.”

  “Was there anyone in the search party that caught your attention?”

  “We had people from all walks of life. Most were everyday folks. A few were the overeager types.”

  “How so?”

  “Just really determined to find her, as if they wanted to be the one the press interviewed when she was found. But that was just a handful, and we had over one hundred volunteers.”

  “Any stick out in your mind?”

  “There was a dude named Rory who was really into the search. He was a volunteer firefighter from the San Marcos area. There was a lady from San Antonio. Long hair, wore loose-fitting clothes. I don’t remember her name.”

  “Who came up with the T-shirts?”

  “A local T-shirt shop that does work for my business donated them. Visibility is the name of the game, so I said yes to the donation.”

  “How was Scott during your search efforts?”

  Neumann hesitated. “Scott was fine. He was too personally involved to be much help to the search group. Don’t get me wrong. He wanted to help, but he was upset.”

  “I ran into a gal named Dee yesterday with a Find Christa! T-shirt. You know her?”


  “Sure. Dee Anders. She works in legal at Scott’s firm. She was one of our most dedicated searchers.”

  “She and Scott work together a lot?”

  Neumann hesitated. “You’ve heard the rumors?” “Rumors?”

  “Dee has a crush on Scott. From what I understand she liked him long before Christa went missing. Anyway, he was totally cool and kept his distance. He was dedicated to Christa.”

  “They were getting married in a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s right. Several folks suggested he cancel the reception hall and the caterer, but he refused. Said when Christa came back, she’d want to get married right away.”

  “You ever see Christa and Scott fight? Did she ever appear upset?”

  Neumann’s gaze hardened. “I know what you’re getting at, but you’re wrong. Scott would not hurt Christa. He wouldn’t.”

  Brody wasn’t so sure. “He invests money.”

  “From what I hear.”

  “I know you two work in the same building, but sometimes gossip gets around. Any word on Scott’s work?”

  Tim hesitated. “There was an issue about six months ago. Scott lost a lot of money in a bad trade. Several clients threatened to sue. The firm settled.”

  “How’d you hear this?”

  “This café. Be surprised what people talk about in here. They chat in these booths as if they are soundproof.”

  “What about Scott’s family?”

  “I hear he’s from Oklahoma, but that’s all I know. We really don’t know each other that well outside of the search.” Neumann cocked his head. “Is Scott still a suspect? The local cops really went over his life with a fine-tooth comb.”

  Brody grinned, not willing to tip his hat to anyone. “Doing my due diligence, Mr. Neumann. I’m reexamining all the angles on the case.” He handed him a card. “Call me if you think of new information.”

  “Sure.” Neumann picked up his half-eaten sandwich. “And you know where to find me.”